Bloody Mary
by mutantmeriwether
Summary: Someone new shows up at the mansion, and she's not exactly an instant favorite. Lots of Gambit, because he's so very cool.


Title: Bloody Mary

Author: mutantmeriwether

Rating: PG-13, probably for lots of language, some sexual innuendo, alcohol use, and all that other fun stuff that makes life worth living (kidding!)

Archive: Go ahead, but please email me atmeriwether (at) andlet me know.

Summary: Someone new turns up at Mutant High, and she's not exactly an instant favorite. Gambit-heavy, because he's just so damn _cool_.

Author's Note: A note about the timeline and other sorts of things: I don't know as much about X-Men as most of you out there. Got into it first through X-Men: Evolution on Saturday morning cartoons, then through the movies, but my dad would've had an aneurysm if he'd seen his teenage daughter reading comic books. So I don't have quite as firm a grasp on what happened when, and what exactly everyone's backstories are. I'll do my best – let me know if I make a glaring error, though it may be necessary for story purposes. But in general, this should be in line with the movie version of everything – inserted soon after X2.

Also, I've spent significant amounts of time in France and none in New Orleans, so my version of Gambit may sound more French and less Cajun. Apologies all 'round. If other accents seem less pronounced (Rogue, Kurt), it's because…well, honestly, I hate writing in accents. Squint real hard and maybe you can see them.

Many fanfic writers before me have come up with clever sayings to spur on reviewers, but all I can say is, more reviews means faster updates. (Well, assuming I don't get some horrible history paper assigned or anything like that).

And don't freak when you see an original character.

* * *

Merriwether Harrison came to the Xavier Institute on the one-year anniversary of Dr. Jean Grey's death. She had no way of knowing, of course – she'd simply thrown her bags into the back of her car. Merriwether had scrunched her fingers in an awkward sort of half-wave at her parents – they didn't touch her anymore, not sincethe hospital– and driven off in the rain with a twelve-pack of Red Bull in the passenger's seat, her car fishtailing slightly as she pulled onto the main road. 

That had been days ago. A lot of days ago. Since then, she'd been driving pretty much nonstop, except for occasional breaks at gas stations for a bathroom and nourishment in the form of honey-roasted peanuts and more Red Bull. And now, pulling her minivan into the driveway of the Xavier Institute, she found she couldn't do it.

To just walk in there and proclaim, "Hi, I'm one of you," would be unbearable. Label herself, when really, why did the world need to know? She practically had control of it anyway, didn't she? It wasn't like anyone would see her on the street and recognize her as a – as one of _them_. She'd learn to control it on her own.

So she turned her car around, feeling like beyond an idiot – why had she driven for a week, if she was just going to stop now? – and drove into the nearest town to a bar. When she sat down at the bar, the bartender told her, "I'll let you sit up here, but I know you're not legal, no matter what kind of fake ID you try to flash."

Miserable, she said "Give me an O'Doule's, please," and hated the sad little _please_ tacked on at the end. Merriwether spent an hour on one fake beer, and then stood up to go, disgusted with herself and the world in general. As she was leaving, she ran into someone, knocking him to the floor. "Sorry," Merriwether whispered, and ran for the door, face burning red.

An hour later, she was headed south on the interstate when a police car pulled her over. "Oh, fuck," Merriwether groaned. "_Not_ what I needed."

"License and registration?" the cop asked.

Merriwether reached for her rapidly emptying wallet and froze. It was gone. Four hundred-odd dollars, her license, her insurance – vanished. "Um," she managed.

"Ma'am, your license?"

Merriwether closed her eyes and tried not to cry with exhaustion. "My wallet was just stolen. It had – it had my license." Her voice caught.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to come back to the police station with me."

Her eyes flew open. "What? Why?" She knew why.

"You're driving a car with Washington plates in New York, ma'am, and you have no proof of ownership." He peered into the backseat, where her luggage was clearly visible, and frowned. "Please step out of the car, ma'am."

Merriwether let her head fall against the steering wheel and allowed a sob to escape, wishing she were stunningly beautiful and could simply flirt her way out of this.

At the Westchester County Police Station, Merriwether was forced to ask, "Um…do I get a phone call?"

The cop glanced at her. "If you like – there's a phone on the wall." He clearly wasn't worried about an escape attempt.

Merriwether walked to the phone and pulled the crumpled piece of paper from her back pocket. She took a deep breath, dialed the number, and slammed the phone back down when a voice answered, "_Allo_ – oh, Charles Xavier Institute, Remy speaking."

One of the cops gave her a strange look, and she forced herself to redial, this time saying, "Is Mr. Xavier there, please?"

"_Désolé_, but de Professor is not in. Perhaps I can assist, _non_?"

She hadn't really planned on this. "Um. I guess." She paused.

"How may I help?" the man on the other end prompted.

"Um," she said, and cringed at the sound of her voice. "Um. I'm – I'm in trouble, and, um, I was on my way to the Institute, but—"

"Ah, I understand. I'll come get you, _chérie_. Where are you now?"

"Westchester County Police Station," she whispered.

"All right, I should be dere in ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Don' tell de cops anyt'ing, understand? I'll sort dis out for you."

"Um. All right."

The guy who walked in to save her from the police was not what she'd been expecting. French, yeah, that much was obvious from his voice. But he was _hot_, in the sort of way that had always made her stammer or giggle like a moron – long leather coat, a mop of shiny brown hair that flopped into his face over black sunglasses, tight black shirt and tight jeans coupled with the Doc Marten boots that her entire high school class had lusted after. She winced. This was not going to end well.

"What is de problem here, officer?" he asked.

"We found her driving a Washington car with no license and no registration or ID – probably stolen, and it's illegal to drive without a license in New York State."

The guy – what was his name, Remy? – seemed startled. "Dat's all? A car?"

"Auto theft is a felony!" the officer snapped. "People can go to prison for it!"  
Remy snorted. "You're going to send a kid to prison f' stealing a single car an' driving wit'out a license? Dat sounds just like de cops to me, don't it, _chérie_? Always making unfounded accusations."

"Excuse me, what's going on here?" A third police officer, a woman with "Lieutenant" on a nameplate on her shirt, came over to join the conversation. She caught sight of Remy and sighed. "You again? Are you going to be representing Charles every time one of his whack jobs ends up here? I liked the redhead better."

Remy shrugged, but Merriwether saw him clench his hands at the words "whack jobs". "I don' make de rules, I only break dem. I can take de _fille_ now, _non_?"

"Yeah, get her out of here before she blows something up," the woman said.

Remy offered Merriwether a courtly bow and then motioned for her to follow him. His car, remarkably enough, was _exactly_ the type of car she'd expect someone like him to drive, all shiny chrome and soft leather seats and a speedometer that went past 250. He was gentlemanly, opening her door for her and carrying most of her bags. He'd piled her luggage into the trunk of the car – quite a feat, considering the car's size – and then settled himself into the driver's seat. An awkward silence fell. Meriwether didn't know how to talk to guys, particularly not ones who made her stomach jump around. Or that could have been all the Red Bull.

"Pleased t' meet you, _chérie_. I'm Gambit. _Je m'appelle Monsieur Remy LeBeau aussi, mais je préfère que tu n'utilises pas ce nom._" He offered a black-gloved hand – to shake? Meriwether took it, and he was about to kiss it when he paused and asked, "You don' have anyt'ing wrong wit' your skin, right?"

"Wh…no, my skin's fine." The disclaimer check had somewhat ruined the fun of his flirty gesture.

"An' your name is?"

"Merriwether Harrison. I'm from Seattle. Um…why're you wearing sunglasses still?"

He raised one eyebrow. "I'm jus' dat cool. Does it bot'er you?"

"Well, it's easier to know what someone's like – if you can see their eyes. You know, the whole window-to-the-soul thing."

Gambit laughed. "Ain't dat de truth. For you, _chérie_, I take dem off, but no running if you don' like what you see."

Merriwether's mouth quirked into a smile, and she held up three fingers. "Scout's Honor." _Did I really just say that? Oh god…_

He slid the sunglasses slowly off his face, revealing blood-red coronas around his pupils against deep coal-hued eyes. "_Voila_."

Startled, Merriwether stared. "Wow."

Gambit grimaced. "It certainly makes for an interesting time if dey want me to go to de movies or somet'ing."

"_Le visage d'un ange et les yeux d'un diable_," Merriwether murmured.

He smiled sadly. "_C'est vrai_."

The rest of the car ride was silent.

Gambit gave her a room in what he said was the girl's wing of the dormitories, deposited her bags there, and gave her a quick overview of the mansion. "Anyt'ing you need?" he asked. "I should go park de car in a better place."

Merriwether shook her head. Once he was gone, she dug a small bottle out of her bag – an airplane-sized double serving of Cruzan rum – and stuck it in her pocket, then headed for the kitchen.

She heard footsteps in the kitchen doorway, and then Gambit asked, "What're you doing, _chérie_?"

Merriwether stuffed the bottle into her front jeans pocket and capped the jug of lemonade, placing it back inside the refrigerator. "Just getting a drink," she mumbled.

Gambit had the cup in his hand before she could stop him. "Lemonade? _C'est un peu froid—_" He took a gulp, swished it around in his mouth, and then frowned at Merriwether sternly. "Dat's not allowed, _chérie_."

Merriwether snatched back her drink. "It's not hurting anybody," she replied.

"_Et toi_?" Gambit ran his ungloved finger around the rim of the cup and licked it off. Merriwether blushed in spite of her irritation.

"What about me?"

"_Ou est-ce que tu l'a trouvé?_" He dipped his pinky finger into the lemonade and licked the juice off once more. "It's very good, I must admit." He tasted it again. "Dey don't keep stuff like dat 'round here, not wit' all de kids."

Merriwether raised an eyebrow. "You don't look twenty-one."

Gambit placed his hand over his heart and pretended to be injured. "_Méchante_! I am twenty-one in ten months."

Flustered by his flirting – no matter how much she wanted to respond in kind, she'd never developed the knack – she changed the subject. "Where is everyone? I kind of had the impression that there'd be more people around. What with it being a school."

Gambit's face turned serious. "Today is de one-year anniversary of one of de teacher's death, Dr. Jean Grey. De X-Men are all up in Canada, saying goodbye to her, an' Professor X took all de kids out to de movies to distract dem. _Nous sommes seules._"

"I've noticed," Merriwether murmured.

They stood in silence for a few moments as Merriwether drank her lemonade. She hated the way she kept inspiring long silences with Gambit. She opened the refrigerator and refilled her cup with lemonade, then paused for a moment. Gambit crossed his arms and stared at her.

"Come on, I haven't had a drink in a week, I've been driving the whole time. All I want is a slight buzz so I can go to sleep." Gambit said nothing. After a minute's hesitation, Merriwether pulled the bottle out of her jeans pocket and emptied it into the lemonade.

Gambit began to speak, but Merriwether drained the cup, rinsed it out, and pulled a box of breath mints out of her jacket pocket. "No call for dat, _chérie_, nobody gonna walk in and Breathalyze you."

Merriwether crunched down on five mints. "I'd rather stay in the habit. Um…I'm going to go sleep now."

"You mean I don't get a demonstration? Usually de new kids have somet'ing special to show…" He eyed her speculatively.

"Well, if I figure out a way to demonstrate without killing someone, I'll make sure to let you know."

"You're dat good, eh? I was going t' start wit' a movie date, but if you wanna go faster, I'm right dere wit' you."

Merriwether turned pink. "I was talking about _powers_, not sex, moron!"

"Oh." Gambit's face fell slightly. "Movie it is, den. Whenever you wake up, _chérie_, just let me know."

Merriwether blushed harder. "Um – I'm – I'm going to get some sleep!" She fled up the stairs.

_Merriwether, please come to my office when you are dressed_.

The voice in her head woke her. She hadn't been fully asleep for a while, really, just lying in bed, dozing a little and trying to resist the increasing drift into wakefulness. But Professor Xavier's voice snapped her back to the real world, and she groaned as something – no _way_ it could be a hangover, she hadn't had nearly enough to drink – pounded in her temples.

She was on her way out the door when she realized that she was probably a mess. Her bags still sat on the floor, waiting to be unpacked; she rummaged in one and found a clean red shirt. She slipped into it, then unloaded the empty bottle from her pocket and wrapped it and the bottle that the clean shirt had concealed in her dirty traveling shirt. Then Merriwether did the same with a pair of jeans.

Merriwether hadn't bothered to explore much, but she knew where the bathroom was, and she figured there'd have to be some kind of washcloth and soap in there. Both were the expensive kind – how exactly did Xavier have enough money to do all this? – and she washed her face until she felt human again, avoiding the uninspiring glimpses of herself in the mirror. _You'd think, if I have to be – this – that I could at least have some spectacular physical aspect. Not be so ordinary-looking_. She pulled her brown hair into a side ponytail, slapped both of her cheeks in an attempt to wake herself up, then said, "Ah, hell," and found a container of ibuprofen in her bag.

She stood there for a moment, willing the headache to recede, and miraculously it did. Merriwether braced herself for the onslaught, then opened her door and stepped outside.

"Hi – are you new?" The girl was there so quickly that Merriwether barely had time to think.

"I – huh?"

"Yeah, I figured. It's pretty wacky here for the first couple weeks, but you get used to it – oh! I'm Kitty – Shadowcat – and this is Piotr, or Colossus." Kitty was so cute and perky that she made Merriwether's head ache again. Thankful, Piotr merely nodded to her and rumbled a heavily accented "Hello".

"Uh. I'm Merriwether. Yeah, I'm new here, I guess, on my way to the Professor."

Kitty seemed a little disappointed. "You don't have a cool name yet?"

Merriwether had to smile at that. Kitty was probably sixteen, and Merriwether could see her as a very annoying adorable little sister to someone. "Nope, not yet. Guess I'll have to figure that out later."

Piotr draped one arm around Kitty's shoulders, practically dwarfing her. "Katya, we haff homework to finish."

"Omigod, I forgot! Nice to meet you, Merriwether! I'll see you at dinner, I guess!" Kitty rushed off. Piotr offered Merriwether a friendly smile, but said nothing before jogging off after his girlfriend

Slightly stunned by the sheer number of _people_, many of whom seemed perfectly normal, Merriwether waded through the mass towards the location that the Professor had placed in her head.

Merriwether raised one hand and knocked cautiously, once, on the wood-paneled door. "Merriwether, please come in," someone said.

She entered what looked like a classroom. A number of adults stood on both sides of the room along with Gambit, and a bald man – the Professor, she knew from seeing his photos in the paper – sat behind a desk. "Um. Hi," she said, blushing.

They were all dressed in black – besides Gambit, anyway – and several looked as though they'd been crying. One, a man wearing sunglasses with red lenses, was shaking. The Professor spoke first. "Merriwether Harrison, I am quite pleased to meet you. It's rare that a mutant actually seeks us out – usually, we have to travel to all ends of the earth to find them. In fact, you rather caught us off guard."

Merriwether stared at the rug. "Sorry, I didn't know – and I wouldn't have called from the police station, but I lost my wallet and they thought I'd stolen my car—"

"Er." That was Gambit, slightly shamefaced. He proffered a worn leather wallet. "Dat would be my fault. Didn' know it was you in de bar. Old habits an' all."

Merriwether snatched it back and immediately checked to see if everything was there. Glaring at Gambit, she slid the wallet into its familiar back pocket. "So – what do I do now?"

The professor considered the question for a moment. "I could interview you and then share what you said with my staff, but there is an easier way. I can simply enter your mind and project the relevant images to everyone – if you don't mind."

She winced at the thought of everyone inside her head. "Um, who exactly is everyone?"

Professor Xavier laughed. "A fair question. This is Scott, Ororo, Logan, Hank, Kurt, and Gambit, whom I believe you have already met."

Merriwether sighed. It was better to get it over with, wasn't it? Like ripping a band-aid off fast…though in her mind, that had always hurt just as badly. "Ok. Go ahead with the whole head-projecting thing."

_She was at the hospital for a blood draw the first time it happened. The lab tech moved forward and slid the needle into her vein. In the two cubicles next to her, the patients screamed as blood spurted suddenly, rushing faster and faster into the vials until they exploded. People shrieked and blood was everywhere, but she was strangely calm; nothing had happened to her…_

…_a week later, she was babysitting for the Josephs, and Barry Joseph's hamster bit him. It was only a scratch, she told him, barely enough the break the skin – look, see, the blood was already going away – but it wasn't, it was swelling to the surface, worse than before, pouring now, until she had to turn away and throw up and then run to the phone and call the hospital, and then get Eric Joseph to wrap Barry's hand in a towel because someone she knew that she was the one making it all worse…_

…_in chemistry class, they were examining blood samples, and she was daydreaming, and the blood in her slide literally began to boil…_

…_she was walking in the hospital for another test and she passed doctors, wheeling a man on a gurney out of surgery, and then she heard them yell, he's bleeding out! I thought we had it all done! and she knew he was dead and she had to run to the bathroom and throw up…_

…_she walked into the living room and said, Mom, Dad, I think I'm a mutant…_

…_they didn't throw her out, didn't say she was wicked or cursed or insane or something, just stopped touching her, started avoiding her, and it hurt, a lot, because they'd been so close before, but it was her senior year of high school, so really, who cared? She didn't, anyway…_

…_and one day two months after she'd told them it was too much, the silence and the distance, and she packed everything she needed into four bags and drove for seven days fueled by nothing but Red Bull, peanuts, and adrenaline, until she got to Westchester, New York, and chickened out in front of the gates of the Institute…_

Merriwether reeled backed, her head throbbing madly. The Professor eyed her and said, "Merriwether, you've managed to create an impressive mental block against hangovers, but if you'd like to stay here, I'm afraid you'll have to let that go."

Nausea punched through her entire body, and she locked her knees to keep from falling. "Yes, Professor."

"So, you control blood? Fascinating," Hank said.

"Well, more like I _don't_ control blood, but yeah…I guess…"

"No, think of the medical implications of this! Imagine if you were able to fine-tune it; you could become a spectacular doctor!"

Merriwether laughed harshly. "Right. Exsanguinate a patient in eight seconds flat. Set a new record. Besides, I don't have the brain to be a scientist."

"Merriwether, have you managed to control it at all?" the Professor interrupted.

Merriwether nodded. "Yeah, some."

"May we see?"

She shrugged. "OK. Anyone have something sharp?"

Logan extended one razor-like claw. "This work?" he grunted.

"Yeah, it should," Merriwether said. "OK, I need a volunteer."

Gambit's head jerked up. "_Pourquoi, chérie_?" He was plainly puzzled.

"Because I can't do anything with my own blood. It has to be somebody else's. I don't know which of you…" She trailed off.

Gambit sighed and stepped forward. "De t'ings I do for _les jolies femmes_._C'est fou_." He slid the back of one hand across the metal, grimacing and cursing in French. A thin trickle of blood slid down his hand.

Concentrating, Merriwether first increased, then decreased the flow of blood from his hand. She tried to stop it altogether, but a roaring built up inside her head and exploded, knocking her to the floor with a bloody nose. Gambit's hand began to gush.

"Hank, could you please take care of Gambit? I think it'd be best if Merriwether and I worked on concentration, immediately," the Professor said.

Merriwether nodded sadly from her position on the floor, and watched Hank wrapped a cloth around Gambit's hand and pull him to the exit. In the door, Gambit pulled away and smiled at Merriwether. "Don' worry, de doctor will fix me up. I asked for a demonstration, _non_?" He winked. "See you at dinner, Bloody Merri."

The others filed out as well. The man with claws – Logan – paused by the Professor. "Any word from the kid yet?"

Professor Xavier shook his head. "Rogue will come back to us when she is ready, Logan. It's only been a few weeks. Try to be patient."

The beginnings of a growl rumbled in Logan's throat. "What if Magneto catches up with her?"

"Logan, I can sense her – she's safe, and she's happy. Please, try to be patient."

Logan clenched his fists and stormed out.

"Now, Merriwether. I think the first thing to do is to teach you some control. Clearly, you've learned how to slow down the blood flow – I think the next step is stopping it altogether."

Merriwether wiped away her bloody nose on her shirtsleeve – at least it was red anyway – and nodded. "Okay.

He met her eyes for a moment. "The alcohol needs to go, Merriwether. It will interfere with your concentration and it will not be tolerated here." Merriwether nodded. "Now, for your first lesson…"

Dinner at Mutant High was always a noisy affair, with people rushing to grab their preferred foods and their favorite tables. Merriwether, still slightly queasy from all her training, got a bowl of chicken soup and looked around for a place to sit. She _hated_ being the new kid, so fiercely that it made her ache even worse.

Someone across the dining hall whistled and called, "Bloody Merri! Over here!" Gambit waved his unbandaged hand, and Merriwether walked slowly over to his table. A few people in their late teens and very early twenties sat around a circular table, talking and eating. Gambit motioned to the chair next to him. "_Asseyes-toi ici, chérie._"

Merriwether sat cautiously, and everyone looked up. She turned hot red and took a gulp of her soup. No one said anything. "Um. I'm Merriwether."

"Why did Gambit call you Bloody Mary?" one of the girls demanded. She was Asian, with big gold hoop earrings and a lot of lip gloss.

"It's just – just his joke. My name's Merriwether." She looked around. "Um, aren't you guys too old to be in high school?"

Most of them laughed, and she cringed a little. She clearly hadn't made a joke, which meant they thought she was being stupid.

Gambit ran his finger along her jaw line and she shivered a little. "We've forgotten de introductions, no? Jubilee, you can begin."

The Asian girl shrugged. "Obviously, I'm Jubilee – Jubilation Lee. I'm 18. And yeah, I'm too old, but I wasn't exactly _in school_ for most of my schooling, y'know?" Her voice dared Merriwether to disagree.

A pretty blonde girl with a red tattoo over one eye said, "Betsy – Elizabeth Braddock. I'm a telepath. I'm 19." Her impeccable British accent dipped around the words, and she offered a slight smile.

The guy sitting next to her grinned at Betsy and leaned over to kiss her cheek, then added, "Warren Worthington III. I'm 22, and, well…" He shrugged, and Merriwether caught a glimpse of massive white-feathered wings. He directed no smile at her.

A blonde boy yawned and just managed to say, "Brian Braddock. Lizzie's twin, obviously."

The last to speak was a boy with spiky brown hair and blue eyes, who iced the sides of Merriwether's glass and said, "Bobby – or Iceman. I'm 18. Just graduated from Mutant High."

"Bobby's the only one who's been around long enough to actually warrant a place on the X-Men," Betsy added. "The rest of us have been here for less than ten months – we were found out after the whole mutant attack on your President." Jubilee cleared her throat. "Oh, and Jubilee here, she's been around a while, but she's too temperamental to send out on missions, and she hasn't graduated yet."

"And Rogue," Bobby added. "She's 18. But she's on the X-Men, and she hasn't been here for a while." Gambit stiffened almost imperceptibly beside her.

"So what do you _do_ here?" Merriwether asked. "I mean, we're almost all done with classes, so what is there that's so special?"

They all grinned at her. "Danger Room," they said in unison. "We train to have greater control over our powers," Warren added. "What are yours, exactly?"

"Um." His accusatory tone caught her off guard. "I can manipulate blood flow. Exsanguinate people. And…um…Hank and the Professor think I could probably learn to heal people back up, too. And give heart attacks and aneurysms."

"Oh, that's comforting. Another killer mutant," Brian snarked.

"Huh. I get the name now," Jubilee mused.

Merriwether sat back in her chair, startled. Gambit stood, dumped off both their trays into the trash, and said, "_Chérie_, you ready for that movie now?"

Merriwether nodded mutely.

They took his car again. "Wow," Merriwether said, when they were safely on the road. "That didn't go so well."

"No, dey weren't so nice. You gotta get used t' dem, especially Brian. Warren's just stuck-up because he could buy de whole state if he wanted, an' Jubilee don't like anybody. Come on, what movie do you want t' see?"

Merriwether considered for a moment. "Do we have to go to the movie first?"

Gambit's eyes immediately left the road and landed on her. "What did you have in mind, _chérie_?"

"Is there any place around here that doesn't card?" She needed a drink, so badly that her entire body was screaming for it.

"You want t' dance or t' drink, _chérie_?"

She stared at him. "Do I look like I dance?"

Gambit laughed. "_D'accord_. Dere's a place."

She was starting on her third Corona – she was going to enjoy every minute of getting drunk, dammit – when he suggested a game of darts.

"Darts? When you've been working on one drink this whole time?"

Gambit laughed. "A shot for every lost round. On me, _chérie_."

Merriwether considered the offer. "Okay."

She managed to beat him the first four rounds – only very slimly – and the four shots of tequila that he took evened them out a little. Then he got lucky and she had to down a shot of rum. It went back and forth like that, until Merriwether's head was buzzing and she was laughing too hard to throw. "Can't throw anymore, Gambit – getting' drunk now – wanna go to the movie now?"

He laughed too. "Whatever you wan', _chérie_."

Merriwether didn't remember the movie, only Gambit's hands and mouth and the way he worked on her neck when she wouldn't let him kiss her because she claimed she wanted to watch – only there was a white fog across her eyes the whole time, so she couldn't see anything. She never knew how they made it back to the mansion without wrecking his car, or how they stumbled through the halls to his room without waking anyone, even though it was three in the morning.

The next thing she knew, they were in his room – why weren't they in her room? did she even care? – and he was kissing her mouth this time, tongues tangled together as his hands slid up into her shirt and she shoved off his leather coat and undid his jeans – _what are you doing are you insane what can taking off his pants possibly achieve that is good?_ – and he broke away for just a second, just long enough to jerk the shirt over her head and for her to pull his shirt off too. She ran her hands over his chest and he pushed her up against the wall, mouth on hers again, until she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled herself up so that her legs were around his waist and rode his hips until he groaned and this plus the alcohol _definitely _made up for everything else—

"Remy? Ah'm back—" The door swung open. "Oh, mah God."

Gambit froze, then spun around and pulled Merriwether off himself and dropped her on the bed. _Dropped_ her. "Rogue?"

A Southern girl in gloves stood in the doorway, brown hair streaked with white, staring at them in horror. "What the _hell_ are you doin', Remy?"

"I—"

"So all that stuff you told meh about not bein' able to touch meh not gettin' in the way of love, all that—that was a lie?" She sounded both furious and about to cry, and all Merriwether could think was, _What? Did I miss something?_

"Rogue – I was just having fun – I didn' know when you were coming back? De _fille_ is new, it's not'ing, I t'ought you might never come back. Didn' you say dat? Didn' you tell me dat?"

_Nothing? Just having fun?_

"Ah – Ah – Remy, stay away from meh. I don't want to hear it." She stormed away.

Gambit shut the door and turned to face Merriwether. "Oh, _merde_," he cursed.

Merriwether quietly pulled her shirt back on. "Asshole," she said softly, and staggered out into the hallway, barely making it to a bathroom before she threw up. She knew she should get to her room, but the bathroom tile was cool and comforting and she promised herself, she'd only rest for a minute.

* * *

Next time: Rogue gets even. Merriwether gets even. John turns up again, and Merriwether discovers that the boys at Mutant High are not very nice at all.

More reviews means faster updates. Flames are no fun. Remember, just because her name's Merri doesn't mean she's a Mary Sue.

* * *

French:

_Voila_: there

_Le visage d'un ange et les yeux d'un diable_: The face of an angel and the eyes of a devil

_C'est vrai_: That's true.

_C'est un peu froid…_: It's a little cold…

_Et toi_: And you?

_Ou est-ce que tu l'a trouvé_: Where did you find this?

_Méchante_: mean

_Nous sommes seules_: We're alone

_Pourquoi:_ why

_les jolies femmes_: the pretty girls

_C'est fou:_ It's crazy

_Asseyes-toi ici_: Sit here

_D'accord_: OK

_chérie_: dear

_Je m'appelle Monsieur Remy LeBeau aussi, mais je préfère que tu n'utilises pas ce nom_: I'm also called Remy LeBeau, but I'd rather you didn't use that name.

_fille_: girl

_non_: no


End file.
